The Harlot and The Hounds
by Dina Macaula
Summary: Sequel to Seek Ye First. Some angst and a fair bit of violence in later chapters. But do not look for a tell. You'll not have it from me.
1. Of Wolves and Lions

_Author's Note: Greetings. Two things. I am sorry for the delay in this. It was longer than I intended. I hope this is to your satisfaction, and trust that you will notify my otherwise. I cannot promise weekly updates, because things are as they are, but I shall do my best._

_Secondly, I was reading Dickens when I began this chapter. Great Expectations to be exact. Fabulous book. Pick it up sometime. I only think to mention this because it often happens that what I read finds its way into what I write, stylistically, more often than not. I don't know why I felt compelled to offer explanation, but if you find Dickens in my writing anywhere, well that's why. _

_Oh, and I lied. There are three things. I am very AU at this point. While I was working on Seek Ye First, Pegasus happened. Those of you who have spoiled yourselves for the second half of season two will know that the canon story arch is going very far away from mine. I will incorporate such elements of the canon as I can, but I can hardly go back in time, and I've decided to press on with the story as it is. I hope you will enjoy it anyway. Anyway, enough of me. On with the show._

_**"If it were done, when tis done, twere best it be done quickly."**_

_**MacBeth**_

You have come back to us, gentle reader, from a place of great sorrow. For true we have all come from there. Gods know we followed with you, and with all our faculties, with every sense keen to us, met with such an end as we cannot here describe.

But please, dear readers, be at peace. Let it be known that never has there been a death that did not carry life along with it. The proof will follow after, for we, your humbly obedient tellers, know that there are many who have said "with every end, a beginning," and have _not _believed it, have said because you wish to hear it, or because others say so.

They were named as they should have been. That cannot be said, you know, of everything named, but these were, and that is something. Because they had not been born in any particular order, they were ordered according to the sequence in which they had drawn their first breaths. The four surviving pups were then named in the order they were given: Caprica, Geminon, Aeirlon, Scorpio.

Our tale begins, or the continuation of our tale proceeds, some time from our last meeting. It follows that the Galactica landing party, their Resistance counterparts, and their various wards returned as planned to the Delphi Union High School. Having made an unspoken resolution to simply part ways with what was left to them, the Galactica crew loaded the people and things that would return to the fleet, and took their leave. It was a simple ending to their time there, and most unsettlingly quiet. Those who would speak of it later would say that, above all, it was the quiet they most remembered.

And though it is quiet that stands most in the hearts of men, after their hearts and minds have just been met with a terrible and harrowing noise, it is not quiet that makes for good story telling. We can find little words for a time without words, but that the leave-taking was painful, and slow. No one man or woman knew what to say to any other. They touched hands, and eyes, and arms. They nodded perfunctorily to one another. They offered, and accepted (or spurned), wordless apology. They realized with varying degrees of certainty and regret that they would never meet again, that those who departed would never stand here again.

And that nothing would change in their absence.

They did not fight any longer. That we can say with certainty. Perhaps they would have, if they had not been so exhausted, or if fighting could have somehow returned all that had been taken from them. But it could not. If there exists in this universe a force that can, we have not met it.

William Adama, Commander, father, warrior, sat with a quiet assurance and noble air. He was very much at ease here, although the office was not the most comfortably appointed room he had ever been in. That it was an office at all was owed solely to a kind of desperate ingenuity and creative economy the necessity of which he had been fortunate enough to escape. That big liners like the Cloud Nine had been converted to support permanent populations was amazing enough, but that short-range vessels like Colonial One had been so effectively transformed into apartments and offices was a testament to the remarkable works men are capable of in impossible situations.

The Commander sat with his hands folded, waiting for the President to conclude her phone call. She had been trying to disengage herself from the conversation ever since he had arrived, but whatever government official had hold of her seemed reluctant to let her go. Adama was not bothered. The Fleet had made a series of jumps over the last several hours which, he sincerely hoped, would bring them some peace from cylon attack, at least for a time.

President Roslin cast an apologetic look in his direction. He smiled just slightly in response.

"I'm sorry about that, Commander," she said as she hung up the phone.

"Not a problem, Madam President." And it wasn't. Adama was in no hurry to return to the pressures of command, though he would never admit what a relief his visits to Colonial One could be.

"Once again I want to tell you how happy I am that the Caprica relief team returned safely and successfully. It truly is a blessing."

"They didn't all come back," he said gruffly. "But they completed their mission."

Whether the cost had been worth the gains was a question he had been arguing with himself since he had first seen his son step off that Raider. He had not been able to get Lee to talk about what happened on Caprica in any greater depth than that of a captain's report to his commander. Starbuck had likewise been tightlipped. He had resolved to talk to them both again, after they had time to settle back into ship life. The Marines that had been lost on Caprica had been fine men, and they would be missed.

"Yes, they did. I hope I never become too accustomed to the fine work your men and women do, Commander. I would never want to take them for granted." Adama simply nodded. "And the school supplies they brought back! An unexpected gift."

"Corporal Walker's idea as I understand it. The Resistance made its base at the Delphi Union High School. Our men raided the library there."

"Corporal Walker is to be commended. The parents and teachers in the Fleet will be grateful."

Adama did not say that he hoped they would have been regardless. He did not say that he would have rather seen Faustus, Marcel, Tallys, and Gavin brought back than a thousand books. He did not say it, because the President knew it, and because it was not his place.

"Now, if you don't mind I would like to discuss the children your people brought back with them. Several families have come forward volunteering to take the girls in." She shuffled through the pile of papers on her desk, glancing over them quickly before turning her eyes back to the Commander. "I think it's best we get these girls into family situations as soon as possible, to help them recover after all they've been through."

"I couldn't agree with you more Madam President."

"But…" She smiled slyly at him. "There was a 'but' at the end of that sentence Commander."

The Commander favored her with a shadowy half-smile, and a soft exhalation that might have been a laugh.

"But I would like to keep several of the older girls onboard Galactica for the time being." In response to a skeptically arched brow, he pressed on. "Some of them have expressed an interest in staying on Galactica to learn from my crew."

"Learn what, exactly?"

"Abrianna is interested in communications. Gwyn and Layla have hardly left the hanger deck since they were brought on board…"

"Commander the _hanger deck _is not what I would call the safest place for a child."

"I agree Madam President. But between you and me, if there is any man on Galactica I would trust to be a teacher _and _a baby-sitter, it's the Chief."

"Commander…"

"Madam President," he said, cutting her off with a raised hand. "I understand your concerns. But the reality is we're going to need these children someday. No one knows how long it will be before we find Earth, _if _we find it. If these girls want to stay on my ship and learn the trade, then they're welcome, because not one of my people is going to live forever." He smiled again, softer than before, and with more affection, and sorrow. President Roslin thought she detected a hint of pride. "Besides, we've already got Boxey onboard, and my future CAG should have people his own age around."

"A Battlestar is a dangerous place for children."

"If you can name one place in the Fleet that isn't dangerous, I'll send them there immediately."

Laura sighed. He had her there. And she knew that he was right, about needing to train the children. It ate at her, knowing that all the children born in the Fleet were probably destined to serve in its defense. What they would need most were mechanics, pilots, navigators, specialists, and electricians, and the skills for these professions had to be cultivated in their children. She knew that. And she was lucky; she had at her disposal the most experienced people left in the universe, to teach them.

"There's one other thing," she said. "These dogs. I'm not sure it's wise with our supplies so limited to…"

"The dogs stay."

The finality in his voice surprised her. On this Commander William Adama was adamant, though the reasons why were lost to her. She did not ask him, but held a steady, questioning eye on him, silently pressing him to answer the unspoken.

"I'm still piecing together the details, but the reports I've received indicate that the pups' mother could detect and subdue cylons." Roslin's eyes widened in astonishment, but she held her tongue and let him go on. "Our cylon prisoner thinks it probably has something to do with body chemistry. We can't see the difference, but the dogs can _smell _it. If this is true, then those puppies could prove vital to the security of the Fleet. We would have actual, reliable cylon detectors, a weapon the cylons would know nothing about and be completely unprepared for."

"That's an interesting proposition," Roslin mused, folding her hands under her chin. "There are four puppies as I understand it."

"That's right."

"And can I presume they will be distributed throughout the Fleet?"

"No."

"When people hear about this they won't be happy about the Galactica crew hording such a precious resource."

"I don't intend to let people hear about it." Again the arched brow, the unspoken question. "According to Apollo and the others, the mother of these puppies was close to one hundred and fifty pounds and could rip the throat out of a cylon with one good tug. But as of right now _they _are blind, squirming babies being carried around my ship in knapsacks, fed condensed milk and pureed chip beef. I do not intend to announce their presence and their potential value as guardians of the Fleet until they are at least big enough to defend _themselves._"

And besides, after all his people had gone through, he would not deprive them of one of the only sources of solace they had found.

"Very well, Commander. It is a security matter and I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Madam President."

"I do expect to be kept informed of any efforts being made to train them."

"Of course."

"Cylon detectors are one thing, Attack dogs are something else entirely."

_Ten Weeks Later_

Cloud Nine was the biggest security threat in the Fleet.

Everyone who had a mind for things like security threats knew it, but they were relatively few, and quite alone in any concern. People were inclined to overlook what they regarded as minor failings when the offender was also the most luxurious ship in the Fleet. So the fact that so many people, when gathered in such concentrations, were a terrorist's dream was lost on them. That anyone could say anything about anything they liked and not be heard over the din of hundreds of voices all raised over the din of hundreds of voices was hardly a matter worthy of consideration. There were more important matters to pay attention to after all, such as the inadequacy and despotism of the military, the tyranny the government, Roslin's progressively poor health, and so on.

For this reason, if for no other, Simon loved Cloud Nine. He spent most of his time here these days. Very few of the humans knew anything of him, and those who did were easily avoided on the few occasions they took shore leave here. He especially liked sitting the lounge, sipping at some intoxicating beverage or other, just listening to them. There was no need to go to any effort in espionage; people would talk about anything, and they would talk about it loudly. It did not matter that the people doing the talking were often the people who had no reason to know anything. What people _think _they know is what really matters anyway. _That's _what one uses.

But Simon was not alone today. Nor was he in what he would have considered the best company. It was a fault he was sure arose from their human-mimicry programming; each one of them thought at least one of the others was unworthy in some respect. It was no surprise really, that the ones the most of them disapproved of were the ones programmed to most closely imitate humans, the ones that spent the most time with them. For Simon, no matter how many times he reminded himself that God is love, and that to love one another was one of His commandments, it was impossible to love Daniel.

The young-looking cylon man with the red hair and flippant manner sat across from Simon, with his ankle crossed over his knee, and one arm slung casually over the back of the booth. His attention seemed focused everywhere but on the one to whom he was reporting, and he made no apologies for it. He had made some joking comment about the weather (the fabricated weather), and about how everyone's definition of morning activities was different, then ordered himself some ambrosia and coolly awaited his debriefing. He had awaited it in such a way that Simon was sure Daniel would not have minded if he sat there waiting forever.

"Sharon is still confined?" Simon need not have asked, but he was looking to draw Daniel back to the conversation, and Sharon was always the best way to accomplish such an end.

"Back in the second they got back from Caprica. They _have _furnished the place a little nicer." He offered up his finest lop-sided grin. "Because nothing says 'thanks for saving our collective ass' like an ottoman."

"And the child?"

"Yeah, she's still confined too."

"Daniel."

"The pregnancy is progressing normally. She sees the doctor every couple of weeks. From what I hear they even have her on a multi-vitamin."

That was pleasing news. It had surprised them all when the humans had kept Sharon, rather than putting her out the airlock as they had when they had discovered Leoben. With every day that passed with Sharon in good health, their spirits lifted. Now it looked as though the humans would allow her to carry the child to term. She was into her second trimester already. God was with them. Still, the idea of entrusting something so precious to the humans unsettled him.

"It will be time for the next phase soon," he murmured, more to himself than to Daniel.

"Early for that isn't it?"

"We can't waste any time. Too much is at stake."

"She'll resist you."

Simon examined Daniel curiously, piqued by the casual assurance in his tone, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

"Why would you think that? Sharon knows her place in God's plan, the same as the rest of us."

"Yeah well, in my experience, knowing your part and playing it are two different things. It's a matter of priorities and you, sir, are not one of hers."

"It's not about me."

"Of course it is. It's about you, me, Leoden, Aaron… At the end of the day it matters less what we represent and more what we do. And she knows what we're going to do."

"What we do is irrelevant."

"If you say so."

Daniel sipped at his drink. Though he had not seemed to pay much attention to Simon before, he did not take his eyes off of him now. What wheels were turning in that fool head? Simon could not know. Or would not have expected to know, until Daniel set his drink down abruptly and spoke.

"You wouldn't be able to get to her now anyway."

"Why's that?"

"You're going in the wrong order. You shouldn't even think about getting to Sharon until the other issue is resolved."

"That's not our concern," he said dismissively. "Baggage from Caprica." From their comrades who could not handle their problems in a timely fashion. Of course that was false too. Everything that had happened was in accordance with God's plan, which meant that, just as Sharon had been delivered into their hands from Caprica with a purpose, so too had Apollo.

"Wrong," was all that Daniel said.

"And you have some suggestions?"

"Some." The mischief was back in his eye now, and Simon wanted, in the very worst way, to pluck it out.

"Well see to it then, and stop wasting time. Too much…"

"Is at stake. I know. Don't rush to your fate, Simon. All things in God's time. And you're not Him. By a long shot."

Daniel finished his drink and pushed up from the table with one fluid motion. He did not even glance at Simon again as he walked away, weaving expertly through the crowds. A way was made for him. Even in their self-absorbed clamor and carelessness, they registered him as his passed, peripherally noted the uniform he wore, and yielded to it.

Simon smiled.

Two things can be said with certainty of the Galactica Viper Pilot. First, he is never clean shaven (neither is she, though that would be less noticeable to anyone adhering to military regulations as he should). Second, he is never well rested.

It had become a point of pride for the men and women of the Galactica Viper squadrons. Even with the lately obtained Pegasus fliers to supplement their ranks, they did not press themselves any less. The scruffy, ragged look they had to them was as much part of their uniform in these days as the actual garment, and they were by far the best functioning tired people in the Fleet, bar none.

Well…bar a very few of them, very occasionally, and never long-term.

And so the senior officers' duty locker had become a shrine, of sorts, a temple dedicated to all things lethargic and laconic. Here, the finest exemplars of dogged fatigue took their ease, always at least half dressed, half-awake, and half-intoxicated…or rather, wishing they were half intoxicated to offset the strain of being half-awake. We say the senior officers' locker, because all others fell under its purview, and so were modeled after it; were it not for the example set by the senior officers, the junior grade officers and enlisted men and women might have more often been found napping.

Hardly anyone was sleeping in the senior officers' duty locker now. That in itself was not unusual. This was the time of morning when the graveyard pilots were just coming off rotation, and others were preparing to take their places. In the bustle of activity that accompanied any shift change, it was all but impossible to maintain even a pretense of sleep. That was not, however, the case on _this _morning.

_"Pass the word to Captain Adama and Lieutenant Thrace. Captain Adama and Lieutenant Thrace to the CO's quarters."_

Starbuck and Apollo stood at their lockers, one stripping half out of her flight suit, the other climbing half into his. Without discussing it, they both understood that the urge to put on their cleanest grays had to be overcome in the interest of discretion. They were not supposed to know what this meeting was about…or at least they hadn't been told outright. Of course, the Commander probably expected them to know. Rumors and speculation had been flying around the ship for days now. Everyone knew that the ten week mark had come and gone, and since then it had only been a matter of waiting for this day. Still, Starbuck made as if she had just come off rotation when the word was passed to her (which she had), and Apollo gave every appearance of just going on (which he was). As for the other pilots in the senior pilots' locker, they had their own part to play; each of them pretended not to be watching as Starbuck and Apollo turned to the box at the back of the room.

No one really understood why they even _had _a box, all padded with old towels and tucked in an out of the way corner. The pups were never in there. When they weren't being carried around in their haversacks by one pilot or other, they were sleeping in Starbuck or Apollo's rack. If someone were hunting around the ship for evidence of dog, the last place that person would look was in one of the boxes! Of course, the haversacks had long since been outgrown and the puppies, with thanks to their one hundred and fifty pound dam, were now the size of small spaniels. They ranged in weight from twenty-four to twenty-eight pounds, a fact in which the landing party found some vindications, since no one had quite believed them when they had described the late Seek's size. Needless to say, when the pups decided they _did _want to spend a little time in the box after all, they barely fit.

The pilots had kept and raised two of Seek's four surviving puppies, a black and tan female and a rust colored male with black points. It was often joked that those two were the same dog, with coloring and gender flipped. The male was called Geminon, and the female was called Caprica. Regardless of the fact that all the pilots had had a hand in rearing the puppies, there could be no doubt that they were Starbuck and Apollo's dogs. As the two had grown into themselves they had made their preference known, and it was as clear now as it had ever been.

"Come on Gem," Starbuck said lightly, hefting the pup in her arms. "Inspection time my prince." It was difficult to scratch under the studded leather collar she had outfitted him with _and _fend off his playful licks.

_"Pass the word to Chief Tyrol. Chief Tyrol to the CO's quarters."_

"The Old Man's not wasting any time is he?" Starbuck asked, with as light a tone as she could muster. "Palladino hand me that rope will you?"

"We should get moving," was Lee's clipped reply.

Walking towards the Commander's quarters with Apollo alongside her, time seemed to slow. There was an ease between them, which she only noticed in the brief lulls between crises. Since their return from Caprica their conversations had been concise and tense, often angry, or sardonic, or accusatory. Lee had erected a barrier between them, bricked with military formality and mortared with righteous indignation. They hardly ever talked civilly anymore. Still, even with the guilt and resentment that hung between them, there were not two people on Galactica that walked more naturally alongside one another.

They were not surprised when they encountered the Chief coming the other way. There were faster routes to the Commander's quarters from the hanger deck, but it was clear that Tyrol had no desire to face the proverbial firing squad alone. He, too, looked as though he had just come off a shift, outfitted in his orange jump suit and smudged with grease. Tucked under his arm was Aeirlon, the male runt of Seek's surviving pups. It was Aeirlon that added credence to the rumor that the pups were bred from wolf stock; he had a decidedly wolfish look about him, and behaved with a cagey reserve unlike any of the others. No one could decide if the pup was grey with black hairs, or black with grey hairs.

Tyrol nodded at the pilot as they met, letting his eyes flick to the pups at their feet. Clearly he had not been the only one to assume this call was about their furry charges.

"Ready for this?" Lee asked. Known as he was for riding the Chief's ass mercilessly, it was strange to hear him sound so kind hearted.

"No sir. You?"

"No," Starbuck and Apollo said at once.

With various expressions of reluctance and unease, they finished the walk to the Commander's quarters together.

Commander Adama was waiting for them, standing beside his desk looking over some reports Dualla had brought him. Dualla was still there, in fact, looking for all the world like a dutiful Petty Officer waiting for her reports to be signed so she could get back to work. That was a sham, however. Dualla was here representing the CIC, her cover well and truly blown by the blue-eyed puppy cavorting around her feet. Little Scorpio was a black and white female, independent and adventurous. Like Geminon and Caprica belonged to the pilots, and Aeirlon belonged to the deck gang, Scorpio had taken up with the men and women of CIC. There had been no need to call for Dee, because it had been Dee doing the calling, but they were not surprised to see her here.

"Thank you all for coming," the Commander intoned. "Please, have a seat."

None of them commented on the fact that they had had no choice in coming, obviously, but he could read it in their eyes as they cast about for places to sit. None of them felt comfortable sitting down. He noticed that too. It was as if they felt that if they got comfortable, they would be giving in. Or perhaps they only wanted to be in positions where they could fight, or run. Adama took his seat behind his desk, practically forcing them to sit as well. He was not looking forward to this conversation. He had been expressly _not _looking forward to this conversation for weeks now.

"Let's get right down to it. For ten weeks now the men and women of this ship have been devoting a lot of time, and a lot of energy to raising these dogs. You've done it despite everything else being asked of you, and you have not let it interfere with your jobs. You're to be commended. I'm proud of you. You've brought a little bit of life, a little bit of family to this boat." He paused then, pulling off his reading glasses and setting them on his desk so to better see their faces. "By all reports, the four of you are the ones to talk to about the future of these animals. Up until now, very few people have been made aware of their security potential, or that they will be raised as guardians of the Fleet." The Chief and Dualla nodded absently, both setting records for the hundred yard stare. Lee and Kara did not move, or speak. So far they had not heard anything they had not expected.

Adama inhaled, and continued with more force than before. "It's been ten weeks. I allowed the dogs onboard because I was told they might be of some use detecting cylons in Fleet. They are old enough now to be trained. Colonel Tigh will be accepting applications from Marines wishing to take up duty as canine handlers, and we have found a dog trainer in the Fleet who has agreed to come on board and work with them."

Dualla was no more aware of the tears welling in her eyes than Lee was of holding Caprica a little tighter, or Kara was of the vice grip she had on the arms of her chair. Tyrol was still staring, though at what, no one could say.

"Sir," Lee ventured. "I'm not sure…" Pause. Collect thoughts. Try again. "That may not be the best course of action sir."

"No? Why not, Captain?"

"It's just that raising the dogs with the general crew could be beneficial…"

Starbuck picked up readily where Apollo trailed off. "If the dogs were loyal to _the crew,_ or humans in general, they would be more protective of humans, not just their handlers. Sir."

"And if everyone could handle the dogs that would free us up a lot. We could give them free range on Galactica, and then when we need to send them out into the Fleet anyone available can go." Dee had startled herself with her boldness, and glanced away.

"You've obviously conferred about this," the Commander observed.

"No sir," they said in unison.

"If there is a cylon agent on this ship, and the dogs are raised as much with him as with humans, they might not be any use to us at all."

"Giving them to Marine handlers doesn't solve that problem sir," Tyrol said, breaking his silence. "Anyone could be a cylon, even one of them."

"And if one of them is a cylon, we would be giving them the secret along with the dog."

"The same can be said for any person on this ship. We cannot train them as cylon detectors without someone realizing what we're doing." The Commander had expected some resistance, but the arguments being flung his way were giving them pause.

"I believe we can," Lee insisted. "Commander… Morale on this ship has never been higher, not since the attack. I think that…that to take something everyone loves away and give it to a select few would breed resentment, anger. It's been a long time since people felt this way about anything, and no one expected to feel this way again. Now we have the girls to take care of and the dogs…they make all of this easier somehow, better. I really think that changing that would be a mistake."

Commander Adama turned his eyes to his desktop, showing Tyrol how the _professionals _do it, as he considered what he had heard. None of the points that had been made were unreasonable. What none of them had mentioned was how efficiency had increased with morale, shipwide. No dereliction of duty reports had come across his desk in weeks. He had seen the change in CIC as well. People seemed more relaxed, more settled into their jobs, as if there really wasn't anywhere else they would have rather been. Still, the concern remained that there might well be cylon agents on the Galactica crew, and that if the pups grew up accustomed to cylons they would not differentiate between cylons and humans. Adama did not know how to solve that one, anymore than he knew how to solve the problem of a potential Marine handler being a cylon. Theoretically, Gaius Baltar's cylon detector should have weeded them out, but Adama had not yet forgotten that Baltar missed Sharon, and Sharon _had not _missed Adama.

Thoughts of Sharon gave him an idea. There might yet be a way to solve this to everyone's satisfaction.

"I want you to take the puppies, one at a time, to the cylon's holding cell." The pups had been carefully kept away from that area since they were brought on board. "See if they react to her, and report back to me. If they do, I think it would be safe to assume they have _not _been living in close proximity to any other cylon. I will leave the training to the crew on a trial basis, and I expect weekly reports on their progress. No one person is to be alone with those dogs at any time, excluding only the people in this room. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," was their reply. It was more than any of them had dared to hope for.

"Dismissed."


	2. Geminon Wanderer

Daniel's position on Galactica was tenuous. This he knew. To wear a uniform out in the Fleet was a simple thing. There was not a single civilian that could recognize all, or even most, of Galactica's crew men and women. He might have even approached the President herself and not been recognized. Of course if the rumors were true, no one was approaching the president much these days, but Daniel did not care to speculate as to why.

Regardless of the liberties he took in the Fleet, his activities on Galactica had to be more… circumspect. If he had come in with any of the groups of new recruits he would have been subject to an immediate screening: one which, clearly, he would not pass. Yet it was vital to his mission than he remain on Galactica, and that he remain under cover.

Selecting his cover had been the most difficult part of the transition. Pilots were not highly visible and tended to keep to their own areas, but they were a tightly knit group of people that would immediately recognize an intruder. The same could be said of any specialty personnel onboard. But he had to be _somebody_. He would not gather much data hanging out on causeways and in storerooms. Worse, he would eventually be had out.

His solution turned out to be simpler than he would have expected. One could even have called it elegant. He allowed himself a casual glance at his watch as the alarm sounded, not really knowing why. Why was it people always had to look at their watches when the alarms they'd set went off? Can it not be assumed that if the alarm goes off, it is the time the alarm was set to? But he looked at it anyway, because that's what humans do, and pushed the button to stop the beeping.

"Time to go to work."

* * *

A new group of nuggets was sent from the Fleet early in the morning. Why they were always sent early in the morning Starbuck could not have said. She certainly didn't make that request. Still, she met them like she was supposed to, in the pilots' ready room, early in the fraking morning, like a good girl.

"Officer on deck!" They never got up the first time. The next part came to her almost mechanically. "That means on your feet nuggets!"

Hotdog, standing to the left and just behind the podium, smirked.

"You're entering the Colonial Fleet boys and girls," said he, "not some after school club." Starbuck shot him a look, and tried not to match the grin he wore with one of her own.

"Sit." They sat. "My name is Lieutenant Kara Thrace. Pilots call me Starbuck." They all knew her by now. The guardians of the Fleet had reached legendary status among the civvies, she had heard. Adama was practically a demi-god. "You will all be starting basic flight. Since we have no flight simulators on board you will be starting in the cockpit a little sooner than you probably planned. For the next few days you will learn protocol, sequences, and the technical layout of the Viper Mark II. So put your thinking caps on." She paused, as much for effect as to allow her words to sink in. A make shift boot camp had been set up on Pegasus, and she doubted many of the nuggets had expected to go from there to a classroom. "Before we get started, Hotdog, roll call."

Hotdog, who had become Starbuck's right hand man in pilot training, stepped forward with a clipboard in his hand and as serious an expression as he ever bore. As he read off the names, Starbuck watched the nuggets that answered back, putting the names with the faces. When the roll was read, three of the nuggets had not responded to any of the names. Hotdog read the last name, "Mick Devlin," three times with no response from any of them.

"You three. Stand up." With varying degrees of meekness, they stood. "None of you are Mick Devlin?" No response. "Name," she demanded of the first.

"Quinn Tarro."

"Quinn Tarro, what?"

"Quinn Tarro…sir?"

"Is that a question, nugget?"

"No, sir. Quinn Tarro, sir."

"Good. You."

"Jame Martin, sir."

"And you?"

"Jacob Daniels, sir."

"But no Mick Devlin."

"No sir."

"Frak." The last was said more under her breath than to them, but by the worried glances they exchanged she would have thought they expected her to gun them down on the spot.

Further investigation revealed that all three of the men had been screened, and had registered for Viper training with the recruiters that had been stationed throughout the Fleet. At least, they claimed to have been screened and registered. Without any documentation on any of them, she had only their word.

No more certain what to do with them than she was willing to give them free run of the ship when she had no idea who they were, Starbuck left Hotdog to watch them and made her way to the infirmary. The way she saw it, there were three possibilities: whoever had done the intake exams had fraked up the paperwork; whoever had delivered the files to her had fraked up the paperwork; or, Hotdog couldn't read. Whichever it was, to begin at the beginning seemed like the best plan.

"Hey doc, got a minute?"

"No."

"I've got one missing nugget and three without files."

"And hearing loss apparently."

"Come on doc. You know I hate to interrupt your smoke break."

Maj. Cottle arched a bushy brow at her and scowled. His was the eternally hunched posture of a man who had carried the weight of his duties for too long, and those duties had soured him. Still, he crushed out his cigarette and stood.

"A missing pilot?"

"And three I don't have files for."

"Start with those."

Starbuck had to glance at the clipboard again for their names, easily distinguishing her hasty scratching from the seemingly careful script of whoever had made the list out.

"Jacob Daniels, Jame Martin, Quinn Tarro."

"I remember them. And the missing man?"

"Mick Devlin."

"Hmm."

Starbuck waited by while the doctor engaged a nearby orderly in what sounded like a very gruff and aggravated discourse. The orderly hurried off, as Cottle's orderlies were wont to do, and returned minutes later red-faced and flustered.

"Here you are Lieutenant." Cottle thrust three files into her hands. "Daniels, Martin, and Tarro."

Starbuck flipped through them. "No pictures."

"Apparently not." When his answer did not satisfy her, he went on. "The materials for photography are as limited as anything else. We make due with what we have."

"And Devlin?"

"How the hell should I know? Once they leave here they're all yours." Doc Cottle lit up another cigarette. "Until they're bleeding."

Though there were no pictures in the files, Starbuck found that the doc, or one of his staff, had jotted down notes on physical description in the upper margins. When she returned to the ready room Hotdog had already rooted out Mick Devlin's file from the stack, and, with the restless nuggets looking on, they began combing through them.

According to the descriptions noted in the files (most empirical stuff, like heights and weights), Starbuck gathered that Mick Devlin was a man of medium height, medium build, red hair, and green eyes. Jacob Daniels was a tall fellow, fair, blonde and blue-eyed. Jame Martin was, in theory, shorter than both of them, and darker to boot, with dark hair and almost black eyes. Quinn Tarro was almost of a height with Devlin, but built heavier, with a dark complexion.

Right.

"Frak. Ok. You. _You're _Mick Devlin."

The look of startled confusion with which the young man favored her had as much to do with the finality in her tone as with the fact that his name was not, in fact, Mick Devlin, but Jacob Daniels.

"Sir?"

"Do you have red hair?"

"Yes sir."

"Green eyes?"

"Yes sir."

"Born on Sagittaron? 5'7, 175 pounds?"

"Yes sir…"

"Then you're Mick Devlin."

The color of the newly christened "Mick" rose just slightly, but he did not argue. She would have like more of a fight. Instead she was forced to resign herself to his resignation.

"Which one are you again?" she asked with a sigh.

"Mick…Devlin, sir?" She stared at him. "Jacob Daniels, sir."

"Right."

With a few decisive pen swipes she eliminated Devlin's name from the file and replaced it with Daniels'. One down. She went on to discover that Daniels was Tarro, and Tarro was Martin. That left Martin as Devlin. Fraking absurd.

"Hotdog, take this file to the master-at-arms and tell her we have an AWOL nugget somewhere on the ship."

"Yes sir."

"The rest of you fall out. You've already been billeted right?"

"Yes sir," they replied in unison. This had been a hell of a way to start their first day, watching the vaunted guardians of the Fleet chasing their fraking tails.

"Good. Report back here at 0730 tomorrow. Dismissed."

Starbuck made her report, and was pleased to discover the Commander easily as annoyed as she was. Of course he had different ways of showing it. Anyone who knew him less would have had no idea. But mistakes like this were increasing in frequency, and now a man they did not know was at liberty on their ship. He nodded, thanked her, and dismissed her. Starbuck felt almost sorry for Doc Cottle's people as she made her way back to her duty locker.

She had flown her CAP rotation early, and was not on the alert pilots call roster until later tonight. There was plenty of frustration to be burned off in the meantime; the idea of her usual game of triad did not appeal to her at all. The solution waited for her on her rack in the form of Geminon, looking like he had just had a nice long nap.

"I wish I had your troubles. Have you had your run today?" The pup blinked at her. "Well I haven't had mine."

Kara changed quickly, stripping down to her double tees, pulling on a pair of jogging short and running shoes. Gem was bounding around on rubbery springs by the time she had the laces tied, whimpering frantically. The largest pup in Seek's litter was not taking to the silence training as quickly as his siblings. A_t least he's not barking anymore. _From her bent position, it was easy for her to reach out and grab firm hold of the pup's muzzle.

"Shh." Gem froze and stared at her. Those eyes could melt stone, she was sure of it. Still, she did not let him go until he stood quietly, making not a sound. "Good boy." She ruffled his ears. "Ready?"

After a quick stretch, Kara took off down the corridor, Geminon bounding at her heels.

* * *

Though Daniel had been sure they would be in that room forever, the initial brief had ended early enough that the nuggets could not reasonably be expected to remain in their duty locker for the rest of the day. An older officer provided them with directions to the mess, and when they all set out together it was easy for him to slip away.

It really was amazing, how little notice was taken of him. The Galactica crew had grown accustomed with unfamiliar faces, as so many new recruits were joining the service. He was sure that many of the men and women he passed in the corridors were relatively new themselves. Some were easily identifiable, and he would have made easy work of any one of them. Unfortunately, the Marines standing guard were far more seasoned. Drawing them away would not be easy.

"Umm…Excuse me, sirs…" That would get them. They were noncoms, and he would be a pilot, an officer. But he was still green, and calling them "sir." They exchanged grins and glances.

"You lost?"

"Yeah," he replied sheepishly. "First day. Can you point me to the mess?"

"Keep walking the way you're going until you're almost to the aft hanger deck."

"I don't know where that is."

"It's aft. Anyway you'll hear it before you see it. From there C-causeway is the fastest way. Someone can point you in the right direction."

"Thanks." He made as if to go, then hesitated, glancing back to see them watching him expectantly. They looked like men who knew what they were about to be asked. They were probably used to it actually. _Good. _"Hey. Uh… is that the cylon? In there I mean."

"What's it to you?" _They're messing with me now. _

"Nothing. I just heard about it. A cylon being kept on Galactica. Is it true it's pregnant with the CAG's bastard?"

The taller Marine snorted. "No. You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"You can see it if you want," volunteered the other.

That took Daniel off guard. He knew that he would have to get in to see Sharon at some point, but his plan today had only been to test his limits. He would not have expected the guards to be so open in admitting him to the prison.

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Seeing his confusion (which he had, apparently, failed to adequately mask) the other Marine explained. "Civilians aren't allowed in there without an escort or pass from the Commander or the President. It's a lot less strict with military personnel. Commander's granted pretty much unlimited access."

"Why?"

The Marines shrugged. "Not our place to ask. We're just here to make sure no one goes in there and does anything stupid."

"And that she doesn't get out," pointed out the other.

"Right."

"So… I can really go in there?" Daniel let a little nervous excitement creep into his voice.

"Yes _sir." _The Marine (the one Daniel had decided to call "Easy"), smirked.

"Escorted," said the one Daniel had dubbed "Grunt."

Easy opened the hatch, but it was Grunt that followed Daniel inside; the hatch was not closed after them, he noticed. Sharon looked up immediately when she heard the hatch being opened, and Daniel, with Grunt safely at his back, allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as her eyes momentarily widened at the sight of him.

"There's your cylon."

"Wow. They really do look just like us don't they?" _Just like us and petrified. _But Grunt didn't seem to notice.

"Hmm."

Daniel could easily get away with staring. He was supposed to be a greenhorn after all; it would be expected. If Sharon had had the bad sense to stare back at him, that might have caused some problems, or at least required some explanation. But Sharon was sharp. Though she did not recover her wits completely, she did so quickly.

"You should start selling tickets, Shields."

"I've considered it. You mind?"

_Now _that _is interesting. Does she mind? _What was more, if his tone and facial expression were any indication, he actually _cared _about her answer.

"No." She stepped towards the transparent wall, glancing back and forth between Daniel and his escort. "I'll even talk to him if you want. No one's been by today." She gave Daniel a gracefully predatory once-over. "You don't have to baby sit."

Grunt nodded and withdrew. _The wonders never cease. _

Sharon stepped almost eagerly up to the handset the instant the Marine was gone. Daniel followed suit.

"Impressive. If we all had so much power over them this war would be over."

"What are you doing here?"

"Working."

"That's what you're doing on the ship. What are you doing _here?"_

She was scared, he realized. Scared of him. With her right hand she clutched the handset, while her left hovered protectively over the swell of her belly. Clever girl. She knew why he was here, regardless of her questions.

"You're thinking now that I've made myself known to you, you can report me." There was laughter in his voice, the same touch to private amusement with which he always spoke. "No. If you were thinking that you would have told your Marine who I am. Why didn't you I wonder?" That was no question really. "Because you knew I would kill him."

"What do you want?"

"To see how you are." He nodded towards her belly. "To see how she is." He dropped his voice then, and leaned in a little. "The others are calling for the next phase. You should know. They'll be coming soon."

"No…"

"I've never lied to you. There are some things I have to take care of first. Loose ends. But you prepare yourself. It will all be over soon. And I wouldn't say anything to your pets. Even if you tell them, I'll be able to get to him before they get to me. That I guarantee you."

He had more to say. They were kinder words, the ones he had saved for the end of their conversation, but he didn't get the chance to speak them. From outside in the corridor he heard… he wasn't really sure what he heard. It was sort of a quadruped scrabbling sound, punctuated by a high pitched yelp and a startled curse.

"What…"

He should not have been surprised really. Or, he should not have been surprised to be met with yet another inexplicable surprise. A small, reddish colored dog charged at him, stopping only a few feet away with its gums skinned back to reveal tiny puppy teeth. All its fluff stood on end, and it practically propelled itself off the floor with its barking. Daniel took a step back in surprise, letting the handset drop. Sharon, he noticed, pressed closer to the glass.

"Gem! Geminon get back here!"

Lt. Kara Thrace, flushed and slick with sweat, jogged through the hatch with Easy and Grunt at her heels. The dog made no move to bite Starbuck as she swept him up into her arms, but struggled with furious little snarls to get down. She grabbed a fistful of the dog's puppy scruff, and the effect of his skin stretched taught on his face was amusing.

"Enough! You little… What are you doing here?"

That last part was addressed to Daniel. Easy looked sheepish, Grunt looked vindicated…and Sharon was staring wide-eyed at the little dog.

"I…uh…got lost on the way to the mess. They said I could see a cylon."

That was not an uncommon thing, as he had gathered. Starbuck seemed neither surprised, nor bothered. In fact, she seemed to find the idea pretty funny.

"You can blame Landin," Grunt said. "He likes to show off."

"Right. Ok nugget, out. Gem! Knock it _off._" Daniel hesitated. He would have liked to know why Sharon was staying so close to him now, tight against the glass. He would have liked to know why there was a dog onboard. "That means _now, _nugget."

"Yes sir." With a fleeting glance to Sharon, easily disguised as grudging curiosity, he headed for the hatch.

Starbuck watched him leave. Geminon was still snarling, and would have been fighting her if her grip on him had not been so tight. When her eyes met Sharon's, she could not help but grin.

"Good boy," she murmured, releasing his scruff to scratch behind his ears. "That's the stuff."

Under other circumstances, she might have asked Sharon why she looked so shaken up. She might have asked her what she and the nugget had talked about. She might have asked her any of a number of questions that Sharon would not have been able to answer. But there was a rule. The pups were not allowed near Sharon during the training process, and Geminon was upset enough already. So all Starbuck did was nod, before turning and jogging away.


	3. Thistle in the Down

Author's note: People do not seem to be enjoying this one quite so much as the other, and I would be eternally grateful for any input as to why. I know it is taking me a long time between posts, and I apologize. Time has become something of an issue for me. I'm sorry also for the sluggishness of the story. I'm taking perhaps more care in its development than I ought. I really need feedback folks. Tis important to me.

* * *

_Lie still. Lie still. Shh shh shh. Not a sound. Don't move. Lie still. _

Movement on the end of his bed. A huff, scratch, flop. Easier for her to get comfortable than for him. _Lie still, lie still. _His eyes were supposed to be closed. Closed eyes when sleeping, the way of nature. But they were more than closed now. They were pinched like, squeezed hard 'til they hurt, 'til they cried. _Don't move. Oh…gods. _Bite the lip to keep from crying out. Is that saliva or blood snaking down the chin? Both maybe. Fistfuls of sheet gathered up, muscles quaking, breath catching.

She was up now, whimpering and snuffling at him. _Moving, getting her attention.__Or smelling like…did pain smell? Smelling like sick. Smelling like dying. _

"Lee?" _Oh frak. No no no no I'm not. Not here. Not sick. Shhhh. Don't move, lie still, she'll go away. _

Weight on the edge of the bed. Her sitting there, curious, confused, painted on the back of his eyelids. Was not supposed to find him like this. Was not supposed to be here. Stupid to hope. Someone was always here. Always here but the others were sleeping. She was early back, and he was not gone. _Don't touch don't touch don't touch don't touch… _

Hands hovering over him. Can feel the heat. Can feel the breath. Dark in here, she's leaning closer to see. See him pale and sweating and shaking.

"Lee!"

Voice more urgent now because he hasn't answered. Harder too, shakes like he does. _Scary? Think how I feel. _Puppy crying, circling, lying down, standing up, sitting. Hovering hand drops lower. _Don't touch don't touch! _But he can't say it. Her fingers brush the flesh of him, the heat of him, the slick of him. Bush hair back, touch his brow…

And explosion of pain, a torrent, a tear, a hot cold sharp dull razor bullet hammer needle knife. A howl claws from his lungs, body surges up and forward and against her as she holds him and pushes him down again.

"Somebody get a medic in here _now!"_

_

* * *

_

Daniel was not a lurker. He was not a prowler. He was not an edge of the crowd shadow-lover, not a stalker, skulker, or creeper. Let them see everything within you that matters to anyone and everyone _but _you, and no one will look _at you. _

So it was very fortunate for him that a large crowd had assembled in the corridor outside the infirmary; he was pleased to be able to hang about the place without having to lurk. He would have expected the off-duty crewmen and women loitering around to be abuzz with concern and speculation. The tense surprised him. It shouldn't have, he supposed. People such as these would be accustomed to tragedy by now. They might even be used to a certain degree of mystery. So they had clumped together, leaning against the bulkheads, murmuring softly to one another if they talked at all, and he, who could not be expected to know anyone, stood amongst them looking confused and frightened. It was his first day, after all. He could not be expected to know that things like this happened all the time in the service. In fact, a fair degree of apprehension regarding his chosen profession would not be out of line at all.

Starbuck had been in and out several times since he had been here. The first time has not been voluntary. Several of Major Cottle's orderlies (one or two looking with shiners already blossoming) had hauled her out. The blood on her skin and clothes had alarmed the witnesses (who had been far fewer than they now were), especially since it clearly was not hers. When the Commander appeared at last, looking stern as ever and slightly paler than usual, Starbuck had trailed in on his heels. Obviously Cottle found her presence more acceptable this time, because they had not seen her again for some time. She left when the Commander did, and returned a short while later, unwashed and unchanged. Lt. Thrace had not emerged from the infirmary since.

Daniel kept silent vigil with his shipmates for a little over an hour before drifting away. There was no need for him to await word, after all. He knew what the doctor would tell them, if he told them anything at all. Apollo was feverish and dehydrated. He was exhibiting spontaneous bruising, and seemed to experience extreme pain at the slightest touch. Anything more than feather-light contact broke the skin, and he was bleeding from several small wounds on his arms, legs, and torso where people had grabbed him trying to get him here. _There should also be some hemorrhaging in the eyes by now_. The wounds he had sustained on Caprica, which everyone had supposed healed, would be discolored and oozing.

_I wonder if the doctor will tell them? He'll have to now won't he? _It was actually more than a little surprising that Cottle had not said something sooner. After all, and as Daniel was well aware, Lee Adama had been coming to the infirmary with pains for some weeks. He would have ignored them at first, but Daniel had seen to it that the pain increased to a level that Apollo would not be able to pass off as stress or work related. He would have sought medical help. Not that there was anything anyone could have done. Now, of course…

* * *

Starbuck sat on a stood beside Lee's bed, watching his chest rise and fall. He was unconscious now. When they had tried to bandage his wounds he had screamed and screamed, flailing about until the pain was so great he had finally just dropped. Even with him unconscious the medics had looked almost pained themselves, wrapping his arms and legs. Just knowing how much pain their actions seemed to cause him when he was alert, they were loath to continue even when he was unaware. But they had managed, and left her there with him while Doc Cottle poured over the blood work, and figured out a course of treatment.

As she sat there watching him, she thought about the weeks that had passed since she had last seen her friend torn and bloody. It seemed like he was having all the worst luck lately. It was strange, looking back, to think of all the times he had winced at nothing, or shied away from someone's touch… most often hers. She had assumed it was because he had not forgiven her. Actually, she was still fairly positive that that was true, at least in part. But seeing him now, bruising at the slightest touch, brought those moments into sharper clarity.

"Kara…"

Starbuck jerked her eyes sharply up from where they had been fixed on the spot between her fingers and Lee's on the bed. His blue eyes glistened with the fever. They asked something of her, those eyes. _But then I'm always reading something that isn't there. _

"Hey Captain," she chirped. "Have a nice nap?"

Lee grunted. His eyes flicked down to where hers had been a moment before, to the place where there hands were not touching. He swallowed, letting his eyes slip shut.

"Hurts."

"I know."

"Something…on Caprica…" In his mind that slight turn of his head was probably meant to be a frustrated shake. Talking was apparently difficult for him.

"You think it's something they did to you on Caprica." Nod. "That's what we've been thinking. Doc says you've been feeling like this for a while." _Bastard. Should have told me. _

"Not…" Not this bad, he meant to say. She understood.

"Well I get why you're so crazy about not letting the dogs jump on you," she teased. _Or anyone else... What the hell. Where'd that come from? _

Lee grunted again. There seemed to be something strained about him, or straining, as if he was reaching for something just outside his grasp. It was not his body that was reaching of course, but his face. His eyes would have been too, if he would open them.

"Anyway don't worry about it," she said, striving for a lighter tone. "The doc can hook you up with some really nice stuff."

"Yeah," he croaked. "I know."

But not good enough obviously, if Lee had been in pain for a while. _Gods I feel so fraking helpless. _Whatever was going on with Lee was well outside her area of expertise. What was worse, he had not wanted to make her a part of it. He could have told her long ago, and maybe she could have helped him. Of course, it was not likely that she could have, but there was always a chance. She glanced away, cursing softly, and was peripherally aware of his eyes opening to regard her curiously.

"Get some rest. The Commander will be by later."

And she left him there, feeling his eyes on her back as she went. Kat was just on the other side of the curtain, she knew, with Caprica straining at the leash. She had suggested to the Commander that the pup be left with Lee for the duration of his stay in the infirmary. Caprica would be taken in and tethered to the bed, to be swapped out for Geminon a little later. Kara could not have said why she did not want to leave Lee without at least one of them. It was just that something about this illness of his did not seem right to her, and the orderlies had been instructed to listen for any barking or growling coming from Lee's side of the curtain.

* * *

Abrianna found her way to the hanger deck around midday. She should have been there earlier, and her sisters with her. The Chief would be annoyed, but she doubted she would get in trouble. Everyone was too worried about Apollo to day to bother about her.

There did not seem to be a lot going on when she arrived. In fact, the hanger deck was as sparsely populated as she had ever seen it. There had not been a Cylon attack in days now, so there was not a lot of work to do. Tynan, one of the other girls from Caprica, was working with Cally on a scrap Viper. The Chief was here too, as ever, tinkering with the Blackbird Mark II. A few others were on hand, but she had not interest in what they were doing. It was nothing interesting. Whenever anything good was going on the Chief was in the thick of it, and he was not involved in anything at the moment.

Aeirlon noticed her first. The approached her silently, with that shuffling, loose-limbed trot of his. The pup was looking more and more wolfish as he grew – nothing at all like his brother and sisters. He had taken to the training better than they had too, at least the silence training; he had never been much of a barker to start.

As he approached her, Abri raised a closed fist to her chest; it was the hand signal they had devised for "sit." Aeirlon responded at once, cocking his head expectantly to one side. Abri next flattened her hand and held it out towards him, then lowered it slowly. Aeirlon went down. When she lowered her hand further still he dropped his head to rest between his paws, and when her fist returned to her chest he sat up.

"Good dog," was all she said, and scratched behind his ears. Care was always taken to reward Aeirlon without getting him too excited. He was a good pup, but was still learning that playing with humans was different than playing with his siblings. He would sometimes bite, and he was getting stronger every day.

"What do you think? Does our scruffy hanger dog have the pilots beat?"

Abri had not seen the Chief approaching, and turned a radiant smile on him now that she did. "And the CIC too," she said with a laugh.

"That'd be something. Beating the Commander's own."

"Boxey says they're going to start aggression training soon."

"That's what I hear. Aeirlon is anyway, and Geminon I think."

"Why just the boys?" she huffed. "Girls can be aggressive too."

"Don't I know it!" The Chief laughed. He was thinking of a certain deck hand of his who had once bitten off a would-be rapist's ear. "It's just that the girls are smarter."

"Smarter?" Abri had a hard time believing any man would admit such a thing.

"Sure. They can alert quietly, without spooking the enemy. The males get all excited. So the Commander figures the males can be attack dogs and the females can…do something else."

Tyrol petered out towards they end, but Abri understood what he meant. Of all of Galactica's crew, only the men and women that had been on Caprica fully understood the purpose of the dogs, and what they were being trained for. Everyone knew they were to be precisely trained, and that they were to have something to do with enforcing order in the Fleet, but that they would be Cylon detectors was not widely known. Tyrol knew it, because he had charge of Aeirlon's training, and so did Dualla, for the same reason. It was not freely spoken of, though, and Abri wondered if anyone else would ever really know the full truth. She supposed that if the dogs grew to do their jobs well, no one would.

"Go on and get to work," Tyrol said, smiling fondly at the girl. "Cally was asking for you."

Abri went, not because she believed there was any pressing need for her to go to work, but because she had seen Aeirlon's ears perk, and seen the Chief's eyes flick up briefly to something over her shoulder. She had also seen the way the Chief's hands settled on his hips, the way they did when he was bracing for something, and the way his chin jutted out when his smile faded and he glanced away from her again. She did not have to wait long to see what the trouble was. Cally and Tynan had stopped their work when she joined them, and had unabashedly turned their eyes towards the hatch.

Starbuck had entered, with Geminon on her heels. She looked drained, and a little angry. She had the Chief conversed briefly, but heatedly, and headed off together. Aeirlon nipped at Geminon as he fell in behind the two. It was funny. He was so much smaller, but could still assert his dominance over his littermate.

"What's going on?" Tynan asked.

"I don't know."

"Come on you two. We've gotta strip this thing by the end of the shift."

* * *

When Adama had officially assigned the puppies to head trainers, Dualla had seemed to many to be an unlikely choice. Though she was universally liked, she did not command the respect of any number of officers in more powerful positions. Most expected that the Commander himself would take charge of little Scorpio, who seemed to favor him. Others insisted that it would be the XO, to give Tigh something to mellow him and turn his attention away from the bottle and his meddlesome wife. A few even supposed the dog would go to Gaeta, or even Baltar.

Adama had never explained why he had chosen Dualla, and of course no one had ever asked him. Perhaps it was because he thought a softer touch would best tame a head-strong best. Or perhaps he himself was a soft touch, and wanted to give his beloved Dee something to bring her some happiness. In spite of (or perhaps because of) the secrecy under which they had engaged in their little tryst, everyone knew of Dualla and Apollo's short-lived and torrid relationship. Even Billy knew, though he pretended not to when Dee came back to him. It was believed that the Commander had been relieved to see it end. Maybe he felt a little guilty, to be relieved when Dee was so clearly miserable. In any case, the Commander had never explained, so people felt free to come up with their own ideas.

What was even more surprising that Adama was selection was how expertly Dee rose to the task. The whole CIC had charge of Scorpio, but Dualla planned the training regimen, and the pup slept at the foot of Dee's rack when the other was off rotation. More surprising still was how well the Petty Officer was able to work with Starbuck and, especially, Apollo. The four chief handlers would gather once every other day to go over their progress and confer, mapping out further training strategies, ironing out kinks, and drilling together. Apollo was almost unrealistically friendly towards her, and Starbuck never tried to throttle her, but even once. This, naturally, was attributed to the calming influence of puppies.

If the people who were so amazed at all of this had been on hand to see the meeting between Starbuck, Chief Tyrol, and Dualla while Apollo was laid out in the infirmary, they would have altered their opinion. Starbuck paced like a caged animal, fists clenched at her side, and looked so ready to beat the hell out of someone the several someones in the room with her very nearly turned tail and ran. Standing fast in addition to the Chief and Petty Officer were Helo, Racetrack, and the remaining Marines from the Caprica expeditionary unit. Sharon was not there, obviously, though there was no doubt in the minds of either Tyrol or Dee that whatever went on here would be reported back to her; the men and women who had gone down to Caprica shared a bond that extended even to their cylon compatriot – a fact of which a good many crewmen and women disapproved.

"There's a cylon on this ship," was all Starbuck said. She said so abruptly, and after so long a period of silent, angry pacing, that everyone was a little startled at first. "Well, more than one. There's Sharon, and there's another one. Or more."

"We knew that didn't we?" Helo ventured. "Or suspected it."

"Sure. Obviously."

"This is worse than another cylon isn't it though." Though Shields phrased it as a question, there was no uncertainty in his voice. Starbuck's eyes jerked up to him from the floor, briefly, angrily, and approvingly.

"How do you mean?" Racetrack asked.

Landin jumped in next. "There's a cylon on this ship, other than Sharon (he said the last with a nod to Helo), that knows something about what happened on Caprica."

"Whoa whoa. Where'd you get that from?" The Chief, try as he might to keep up, was falling impossibly behind.

"Apollo was wounded on Caprica," Starbuck growled. She was no longer pacing, but she looked to him more like a raging animal than Aeirlon ever had.

"Doc says he never recovered. He's been in pain all this time and never told us." Walker rolled a toothpick pensively between his teeth, leaning back against the bulkhead with his arms crossed and his face cemented into a million mile gaze. "We wondered why he recovered so fast on Caprica. Why he was walking and talking after how they messed him up."

"Frakin' morons. We never saw it. Why they would possibly just let him go…"

"What are you talking about?" Dualla demanded. It was her first contribution to the conversation. "He _did _heal. He was fine…" she trailed off. Confused as she was, she knew better than to talk about how hale and hearty Apollo was when he was fraking her. As angry as Starbuck was, she was likely to put the other woman's head clean through the wall.

"He wanted us to think so." Starbuck blew past the comment, as if Dualla had never spoken. "Doc says Lee's been in pain for a while now. On and off. He's been on pain killers, goes to sit with the President on his bad days. Bastard had us all fooled."

"So we're saying what now? That there's some cylon onboard putting the heat on now? Somehow _making _Apollo sick?"

"You got any other suggestions?"

"But why? Why now? You don't think they know about…" Landin nodded to where the pups were lying in a pile in the corner.

"No. No way. They would just kill the puppies then."

"How? We never leave them alone."

"It doesn't make any sense. None of it makes any fraking sense."

"It had better. And soon."

"Doc have a prognosis?"

"Either he gets better, or he doesn't last the night."

"I'll talk to Sharon." Helo had mostly listened, offering only one or two comments in all the time they had been talking, but when he spoke his voice was decisive. Helo was a man of action, more than words. "She might have an idea what's going on."

"If she did, why wouldn't she have said something back on Caprica?"

"Right. Helo, you can ask her that too. For now, one of us should be within shouting distance of the infirmary at all times."

"And for gods' sake no one leave a puppy alone."

"No joke. All this started on Caprica. Might be everything that came up from Caprica's gonna have some trouble."

"What about the girls then?" the Chief asked. "Abri and Tynan and Gwyn and the others. They'd be a part of this too." _Whatever the hell _this _is. _

"I think it's pretty clear we have no power at all to help Apollo. And he's pretty well guarded anyone. I say we post a guard on the girls, stay within shouting distance of _them." _

"Does the Commander know about _any _of this?" Dualla asked.

"He will. I'll go talk to him this afternoon."

"He couldn't understand," Shields murmured. "How could any of them understand? How could _you." _The look with which he favored Dualla and Tyrol was almost accusatory.

"Enough. We have a job to do now. Let's get it done." Starbuck looked more relaxed now, more like a person with a mission rather than raw, un-harnessed rage. "I'm going back to sickbay to check on Apollo, then to talk to the Commander. Helo, you check with Sharon. The rest should keep their eyes on the dogs and the girls. Something's going on here."

The group nodded and dispersed, walking off in groups of two and three and conversing softly with one enough. Dualla caught Starbuck's eyes. She recognized immediately what she saw there, but said nothing. Her understanding of the other woman was limited to her understanding of Apollo…and she was not so much a fool as to think that was not limited as well. Starbuck stared hard back at the Petty Officer, very much in charge of all that passed between them. Try as she might, Dee could not hate Kara Thrace. She had known from the beginning that Starbuck was more a part of Lee than she could ever be. Nothing had been held back from her; it had not been a secret. What she saw in Kara now she recognized, because it was a fear that mirrored her own. It was stronger, she knew, because it was more than the fear of someone losing something close to them; it was fear at the prospect of having a part of one's own self ripped brutally out. She had seen that desperation before, in Lee, when Kara was missing and presumed dead, or when he threw himself into her cause in the hope of seeing her again when she was lost.

It was Dee that broke the stare first.


	4. Twitchit

**Author's Note: Alright all, there's been an exciting development. I actually proofread this! Really. A few times. So there should be fewer typos than you are perhaps accustomed to from my work. Huzzah. Also, I thank you all for your input, and I shall try to work accordingly. I can't change much as far as the story, because it's all outlined already and I hate to mess with it, but I will try to work faster and better so that there is no long delay between chapters. I would love it if you would continue to feedback on this. _This _chapter was a bit taxing, and I would really like to know how you all feel about it. Also, the back ten start tonight! Again with the Huzzah!**

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**Forgiveness is the sweetest revenge. Isaac Friedmann**

_It was black. _

_This was not a natural dark. This was the sort of darkness that settled in a man, that coiled about him, that worked through him. It was a cloaking darkness, neither warm nor cold, neither loose nor tight about him. He could see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing. But it was that he could feel nothing that he was most struck by. There was no pain. Though he could not see his flesh he knew that if he could, he would see no bruises. He was not bleeding; not hot ooze tickled his skin, no metallic tang tainted his mouth and nose. When he flexed his muscles, they did not protest. Nothing was perceptible but his own existence, floating disembodied in a dimensionless space. _

_Gradually, where he stood, floated, existed became a place, and that place began to lighten. He saw… realized… the floor first, and felt the coolness of the marble under his bare feet. The light seemed to spread up him more than out, so that next he saw his legs, sound and strong, and then the lower edge of a garment he had never seen before, a white tunic, trimmed with gold and belted with a golden cord. He saw then his hands, the left bearing a gold ring with a strange device affixed upon it, and his arms, both with neither a scratch nor bruise. The skin of his chest where it was exposed was unbroken and unblemished. He felt refreshed, hale and hearty, as if he could have run a hundred miles without tiring. A sort of music, both merry and solemn, filled the space around him, with the sound of harp and flute and upraised voice._

_Then the soft glow radiated out, as though his very body was its source. The marble floor seemed to go on forever, its plane interrupted occasionally but towering pillars the capitals of which he could not see. The floor and the pillars were all there was. No matter how far the light reached there was no ceiling, there were no walls, and there were no doors. Still, he was not alarmed. He was aware now that he had come to this place by no natural means, and it would be by no natural means that he would leave it. _

_While he was watching, the glow brushed upon a flurry of motion, so suddenly there and gone that he doubted he had seen it at all until the light embraced it fully. Two whippets gamboled and wrestled at the foot of what appeared at first to be another pillar, the one with a gilded collar, the other with a collar of iron. He saw then, dangling near them, a sandaled foot, and followed it up to a knee, a leg, a body reclining on an elaborately sculpted marble throne. The legs were crossed and thrown over the armrest in what he would have called an undignified pose, were it not for the nature of their owner. She, a girl of perhaps seventeen or eighteen years, was attired much the same as he was. Though he could see no instrument about her, and her mouth was closed in a sultry smile, he was sure the music was, at least in part, coming from her. Thick black tresses fell about her shoulders, with two short, rebellious locks framing a fine-featured face. Her coloring was dark, almost swarthy, and her large eyes were the most dazzling shade of green he had ever seen. She said no word as she watched him watching her, but those eyes seemed to dance with such delight that he almost laughed. _

_No sooner was she illuminated fully than another figure appeared, sitting easily in an identical throne perhaps ten feet to the right of the first. This one, a man, also wore the white and gold tunic. He seemed to be of an age with the girl. Considering them closely, he could not imagine that there was not common blood between them. The boy's hair was shorter, but as black and as thick as hers, cut in a wild and rakish style. He had the same tawny complexion, the same casual grace, the same large eyes dancing merrily at him. The boy's eyes were blue, though. The music seemed to be coming no less from him than from her, though he did not have any instrument either, and his slightly smiling mouth did not open. As Lee considered him he noticed slight movement near the young man's sandaled feet, and was startled to discover that what he had taken for a carving before was the largest, whitest snake he could have imagined, coiled around the base of the throne._

_"You are Lee Adama, called Apollo." _

_He would have said that neither could have spoken, because he still did not see their mouths open, yet the voices that formed the words were undoubtedly male and female, and seemed to fit the figures as perfectly as the music did. It seemed to him the male voice took particular delight in the words._

_"I am," he said, though it had clearly not been a question._

_"And the son of Zeus it is said," the two chimed together._

_"Son of Gideon" the she-voice lilted._

_"Warrior of Kobol," the he-voice intoned. _

_"Where am…How…Who…" Lee had no idea which of these questions he wished to ask first, or even if he was wise in asking any of them. Lee's eyes flitted back at forth between the two, searching desperately for he knew not what. The iron collared whippet leapt upon its mate, bowling the other over, and Lee thought he heard the sound of breaking glass. It had to have been the music, however; there was nothing here but flesh and stone. He wished the music would stop. He wished the dogs would be silent. He wished he knew what the hell was going on so he could pull himself together and stop looking like a fool._

_His stumbling seemed only to amuse them, if it was indeed him they were reacting to at all. Though their eyes remained fixed upon him, he could not have said with certainty that they took any real notice of him._

_The voices came together again, playing off and with each other. As the light continued to expand, the voices began to echo. "The worshipper of He has unknowing offered you up to us. You will listen now, and take warning. The supplanter works among you. One of many, he is, but close to you. You must root him out and destroy him before aught else may be. Before you meet your brothers, he and his must be undone."_

_"Whose? What supplanter?"_

_"They are the worshippers of He." _

_"The worshippers of… cylons! You mean the cylons in the Fleet." He had heard enough cylon blather about their one true god to catch the reference, though he was otherwise feeling impossibly confused. _

_"Just so. The great sin of the sons of Gideon must be undone, that the children of Kobol may be remade."_

_"We can't find them. Sharon told us weeks ago…Boomer did… There are…"_

_"Nine." The snake at the base of the male's throne slowly uncoiled itself, and pursued the fleeing darkness._

_Lee shook his head. "Yes. But we can't find them," he repeated. "We've been screening for cylons in the Fleet since the first days after the attacks."_

_"Look first to your own. Seek first the supplanter, the worshipper of He that gave you to us. His is the first of the threefold threat. Know him by the signs which we will show you."_

_Lee said nothing for a time, waiting, naturally, for some sort of sign to be shown to him. But the voices said nothing more, and no image materialized out of the space in front of him. They only watched him, expectantly, almost curiously, while he considered what he had been told._

_"You said there is a threefold threat? What are the other two?"_

_"There is one who is with you, but not of you," said she readily._

_"There is one who is of you, but not with you," said he in turn._

_"These," they said together, "you must answer." _

_"How will I know _them? _More signs?" Lee was getting frustrated. It was this, exactly, that had driven him away from religion as a boy. _

_"These you must answer," they said again. "Know also that in all times, in all places, no power of ours will stay the hand of your enemies."_

_A lyre appeared in the hands of the male, and he plucked at it dispassionately. Lee felt a sort of heat rise in him, like anger and frustration and uncertainty and passion all burning together. He was sure that more was being asked of him than ought to have been his alone to bear, but, at the same time, he had very little idea even what_ was_ being asked of him._

_"How can I do any of this?" he demanded. "I'm strapped into an infirmary bed." How he knew that he was, and just when he had realized he was neither physically in the chamber, nor conscious in the strictest sense, is not known to us, the tellers, any more that it was known to him._

_"Your hand we may strengthen. But we do not direct it or anything it wields and we cannot," they reiterated, "stay the hand of your enemy."_

_"Yeah I got that."_

_"Take it with you."_

_It was black._

_

* * *

_

Doc Cottle was checking the charts on the ends of the beds.

It was little more than a matter of form, really. There were not many patients in the infirmary this afternoon, and he knew what was wrong with each one without having to read about it. There was nothing to alter in any treatment plans, no emergencies that required his immediate attention, not even any decent wounds to be checked for sign of infection. So he went from bed to bed, dispassionate and resigned, to glance over the charts and exchange a word or two with the occasional alert ward. _Times like this a man needs a good spot fire or mass shooting, keep him on his toes. _He shook off the thought.

Lee Adama's bed was at the end of the infirmary farthest from the hatch. It had been a hell of a chore getting him here, with the young captain thrashing and howling the whole way. At the time, Cottle had wanted to take the CAG as far as he could away from the other patients; it was rare that he had opportunities like this, to shield his charges from the pain of watching one of their own screaming and crying and bleeding. Even after Apollo had settled down, this had seemed like the best place for him. His shipmates had become so concerned that they were meddlesome, and Cottle wanted to keep distance as well as curtains between them and the captain.

The gruff old man hesitated as he drew near the pilot's cot, as he always did. The pup, the one called Caprica, had risen immediately as he approached. At first Cottle had not known quite what to make of the dog's reaction to him. He had not spent much time with the animals, and did not know how aggressive they might be. There were not aggressive at all, as it turned out. Just very strange. Caprica advanced to the end of her rope and waited, silent, with her black little eyes intent upon him. Starbuck had left the dog on a long leash, so there was no way to get close to the bed without coming within range of the dog.

Cottle huffed and raised a bushy brow as he considered her. She was small yet, being only a puppy… or at least she was smaller than she would be later. If reports from the Caprica team were true, this one would be a monster before long. Even now she was the size of a small spaniel, and he had no doubt he would feel it if she bit him.

He paused only a moment. He was growing accustomed to his little dance with Caprica. Two steps more and he was within range of her. She stood on her hind legs, straining against her rope and reaching towards him. He thought he saw her tail wag a little. _It's just a game to her. _The little nose twitched, and when he came closer she dropped to all fours and sniffed vigorously at him. Cottle had seen all four pups at least once over the last few hours, as their various handlers came to check on Apollo, and each and every one of them had sniffed him this way.

His grandchildren, when he had had grandchildren, had always said he smelled funny. _It was the cigarettes. Their mother told them to say that so I'd quit. _

Once more, Cottle shook off the thought. He nudged the pup aside with his foot, cursing when he nearly got tangled in the rope. Mechanically, he unhooked the chart from the end of the bed. The pain killers had worked to a limited extent when he was first brought in, but that had not lasted, and now Captain Adama was on a heavy sedative. They had knocked him out in the hope of sparing him the worst of the pain, and because they had needed to remove the restraints; the straps on his ankles and wrists, which were the only thing stopping him from pitching himself to the floor, were also cutting into him, deeper every time he moved.

Cottle checked the IV line. He gentled opened Lee's eyes to shine his penlight into them; the pupils were reactive, and there were no more burst blood vessels than there had been an hour ago. There were no fresh bruises or cuts either, that he could see, and Apollo's breathing was not so labored. So that was something. _Just because we've got him knocked out. It'll be bad again, second he wakes up. _

There was no real need for him to step away from the bed to jot his notes on the chart, but he did regardless. Old men do hardly anything consciously, but move with the assurance of memory through well-established paces. If his orderlies and medics had been the types to complain, they would have said that it was impossible to read his scratching. But that did not matter. What mattered was that he would come back here, one hour from now, and recall what he had seen an hour before. No one would look at the chart to do something without his approval in any case.

Doc Cottle glanced from the chart, to the man…boy really…and back to the chart again. He sighed, because that is what old men do when confronted by the suffering of the young, and because no one was around to hear him.

"Let me know if there's any change," he commanded the dog absently. She cocked her head at him, and he smiled wanly in turn.

That was the point and which Cottle would have hooked the chart back into its place on the bed, jammed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, and moved on to the next bed. And he very nearly did, because that is the way of old men, and because he did not see any reason why he should not. In fact, he back was almost completely turned when he heard it, the sound that pulled him up.

It was like a whimper, but more desperate and strained, and it was the dog that made it. When he turned to look at her, he half expected to see her choking herself on her collar as she strained to sniff him even while he walked away. But the pup was not sniffing for him now, or even looking at him. Caprica was trying to reach the bed. If she reared up, she could almost get her forepaws to the top of the mattress. But not quite. She was hopping, and could probably have jumped up, if she had not been scolded so sharply last time she had tried. Now she just whimpered and strained, trying to reach the hand on the cover.

A hand, he realized, that had moved.

The movement must have been slight, because it was not so far from where it had been when he turned his back a moment ago. But the palm had been down when he looked at it last, he was sure of it, and now the hand was on its side, palm in, fingers curled. While he watched, the fingers extended, then curled in again. It was not possible. They had pumped enough sedative into Lee Adama to keep him out for hours yet. But even as he thought so the captain made a sound, not so very different from the one the pup had made, like straining.

"Captain?" Two long strides had Cottle back at the bedside, and when he checked the eyes again Lee shrank back from the light.

"Where…" he rasped. His throat was dry.

"Timmons!" Cottle barked. The young orderly, a civilian volunteer, appeared with terrified immediacy. "Bring some water. And notify the Commander that Captain Adama is awake."

* * *

Apollo was in hiding. 

He had been so tired, after Cottle had finally, in a state of utter bemusement, released him. He could no more explain how he had overcome the sedative than he could explain why the pain had lessened, and how it was that there was no more red in his eyes. Lee had been examined more thoroughly than he would have thought possible, then held over for observation for a time, before the doctor had seen fit to let him leave. His mind then had been on his rack. Maybe a nice hot shower.

The well-wishers, with their thoughtless pats on the back, had only deepened his exhaustion. He found that he could not go back to the duty locker to lie down, because he was immediately set upon by pilots telling him how glad they were that he was alive and on his feet. And that was fine. He was glad too. _But not half as glad as I'll be after a few hours of good, sober sleep. _

Of course he was not surprised when she found him. He could not remember ever telling her about this place, this remote storeroom he retreated to when the demands of rank and blood became too much. He probably had. Either that, or she had had Geminon track him, but that seemed less likely. Regardless, there she was, standing just inside the hatch with her arms crossed. She had not turned on the overhead, but he could feel her there, and there was illumination enough from the floor lights that he could see her outline.

"You stupid cocky son of a bitch," she growled.

It was a very different tone than the one she had soothed him with when he was still in the infirmary, and it took him by surprise. He sat up.

"I'm a what?"

"A dumbass. A godsdamn deceitful motherfraker." She advanced on him, closing the distance to within a few feet.

"That's not very nice."

"Frak off."

Lee was standing now, though he was not really sure how he had managed. The crates stacked around where he had put his bedroll down gave him something to balance on. Not even that would be enough, if the fury that was Kara Thrace did not let up. He could not remember the last time she had been so unrestrainedly pissed at him. On Caprica probably.

"And why, lieutenant, am I a 'godsdamn deceitful motherfraker?' Exactly?"

"Oh cut it out Lee. You've been sick. All this time. Since Caprica. For ten weeks you've been sick and you didn't tell _anyone." _

"Not all ten weeks," he said lamely.

"Does it matter? You're the CAG, a pilot! We go up with you every day and you shouldn't have even been in a _cockpit_."

"Oh come on Kara," he scoffed. "You don't give a damn about that. What's getting you is that I didn't tell _you." _

"Yes, dammit!" He would not be expecting her to admit it that freely, she knew, so she hit him with what she had. Kara had been so worried and frustrated over these last hours, and so annoyed and confused over these last weeks, that she could practically feel her seams ripping now. _That'll teach him to run off and hide. _"You should have told _me. _I'm your friend Lee. I _was _your friend. What the hell's been happening to us? I mean it's you and me. And you've been in constant pain for _weeks _and I didn't know about it."

"Didn't you?" he murmured.

"I saw something was wrong sure, but I thought you were still…" _…holding Caprica over my head. _

"I wasn't." He understood. She sensed him smiling in the darkness. "Well, I was a little."

"Well, you're a bastard." Her voice was softer now. The relief that had been battling all this time for supremacy was finally making itself felt, and she had expelled about all the self-righteous anger she cared to.

The silence stretched between them. Kara had run out of things to say. All there was left to do was stand there, in the darkness, in the nearness. She was aware of him moving, but did not really register what he was doing until his hand closed around her wrist. She jerked back, but his grip was firm. Slowly, deliberately, he raised her hand to his cheek. Rough stubble brushed her palm as he drew one arm up and over his shoulder, then reached for the other. Her breath froze in her chest. _I'll hurt him. I shouldn't touch. _But she couldn't pull away.

Lee's hands were on her hips in the next instant. There had been so much _apartness _between them, and he was so tired.

With one thought they drew each other close. She could feel his body shudder, quaking in protest, but he would not let her draw away from him. Lee had not held her like this since her first return from Caprica. She could feel the same sudden tensing in him, the brief hesitation before he pulled back just enough. This time she was not surprised. This time she did not start back when his lips met hers. This time she let her fingers run up through his hair, and leaned into him. This time, Kara Thrace kissed back.

It was not until the kiss was broken that either realized what had happened. Their foreheads touched, their breath mingled, and each one struggled with the reality of what they had done, were doing. There was no turning away now, no laughing it off, pretending it never happened. Even if they could have, they would not have. Kara's fingers found their way back to Lee's cheek, brushed over his lips.

With the force and fervor of passion long restrained, they kissed again. The kiss was not broken again for a long, long time.

* * *

If Daniel's timing was right, and he knew it was, he would have very little more to worry about from Lee Adama. Neither dead, nor fully among the living, the captain would serve the purpose he had been set aside for unknowingly, passively. With the task begun there was nothing left for Daniel to do but finish it, and that could wait. Now there were more pressing matters demanding his attention. 

The corridors were sparsely populated, since they were in the middle of a rotation and everyone was either at work or at rest. The one he was aiming for was not heavily used anyway. Still, he knew it would not be wise for him to be seen there alone. Being lost had been a successful pretense the first time, but it would not work again. Two of the other nuggets were with him. They had been easily lured, when he told them excitedly about how he had seen the cylon, and that the marines would let pretty much anyone in, and about how _weird _it was. They would be dispatched easily enough when the time came. After today, he would have no further need for them anyway, or for anyone aboard Galactica. He savored the thought that Grunt might be on watch with particular relish.

The three young men chatted amiably with each other as they made their way, stopping now and again to talk to a deck hand or pilot one or another of them had become friendly with. Daniel did not mind the occasional delay; he was in no rush. They even encountered the one called Hotdog, who stopped to answer questions about their training with a superior air. It was getting on supper time, so they talked about what slop was being served in the mess that day. Jammer met up with them on his way there, and invited them to a pick-up pyramid game with some of the deck gang after chow. Everyone he met was _so _oblivious, Daniel almost laughed outright.

Taking out the two nuggets without alerting anyone would be easy, especially if they were inside the holding area when he did it. The Marines might give him a bit more trouble; he did not doubt that he could kill them, but it would be difficult to do so silently. After that, he would somehow have to get Sharon off the ship. He had a plan for that too, and if Sharon did not kick up too much of a fuss, he should be out of here before anyone had any idea something had happened. Or, rather, he would have _her _out here, and he would be left spotlessly innocent behind her. There was more for him to do yet. The next phase would soon be set in motion. The will of God would soon be done.

They arrived at the place relaxed, strolling. The company had even picked up a few more hangers on, but Daniel was not bothered; he would be able to dispatch five as easily as two. They were only heathenish children after all, and relatively new recruits; they had not been trained in hand to hand, and they were not armed. They laughed and joked easily with each other, and when the Marines came into view they were smiling too.

He had heard situations like this referred to as "unraveling," as if a careful weave were slowly coming apart, or "dissolving," a piece at a time. But it was not like that at all. When it happened, when he became aware of it happening, it was as if the whole of it exploded in one terrific instant, and the best laid pieces scattered irretrievably out of his grasp. The Marines (and it was indeed Grunt and Easy standing guard again tonight), were smiling, but not at him and his entourage. They were not even smiling at each other. They were smiling at a wraith, at a phantom. They were smiling at a man that should not, could not have been, standing hale and whole before them.

The ones he had brought with him raised their voices in excited and surprised chatter and Daniel, by necessity, joined in.

"Captain! We heard you were in the infirmary!"

"Quinn said you were dead."

"I didn't!"

"Ok so he said you were dying."

"I said he was _sick. _Anyway how would I know?"

"How would you know? How would that stop you!"

"It's good to see you sir," chirped Kat, who had joined their merry band on the pretense of keeping the nuggets out of trouble.

"It's good to be seen." Apollo turned to face them, looking calm and self-satisfied. Starbuck was with him, and the two stood with a sort of natural grace in each other's company. "Where are you all off to?"

"Getting into trouble Mick?" Starbuck accused playfully…_too _playfully, he thought, based on his experience with Starbuck.

"Mick" blinked at her, partly because of the unfounded, teasing accusation, but mostly because his name was not, in fact, Mick, but Jacob.

"N…no, sir," he stammered, much to the amusement of all. "We were just headed for the mess."

"Jammer said there's a pyramid game down there after chow tonight," Quinn picked up. They all knew that it would not be wise for them to tell their superiors where they had _actually _been meaning to go.

"You boys gonna play?"

"Maybe. It's been a while…sir."

"Well watch out for those knuckledraggers," Apollo said lightly. "They spend _all day _pounding on things."

"Right!" Grunt guffawed. "And a Viper _pilot _might as well be a Viper to them."

"With dents," Easy added.

"Get out of here you guys. Score a few for the pilots."

"Yes sir!"

Daniel glanced over his shoulder as his little group went on its way, heading now for the mess with only (in most cases) mild disappointment. Starbuck, Apollo, Easy, and Grunt were stepping into the hatch, no doubt to get what they could from Sharon about what had made Apollo sick. When his group entered the crowded mess, he slipped away.

There was work to do now.


	5. Signs and Wonders

Author's Note: Again, this is a short one. I meant for it to be longer, but I've had a lot going on these last few weeks (my horse was hit by a car), and I don't want to keep you waiting any more. Thank you for your patience, and I promise I _will _try to work faster.

* * *

Some things cannot be put to words. We all know that. It is an understanding we reach as a matter of course, as we are mortal, and feeling, and knowing creatures. Some…understandings…some core matters of being, cannot be expressed with such clumsy human contrivances. But knowing that it cannot, should not be done, does not lessen the human desire to do so, to transfer somehow to another the full force of our existence. 

So Lee Adama stood, as men do, on the freedom side of another, more tangible human contrivance: the cage in which Sharon Valeri was kept. He stood just inside the hatch, actually, having stopped so suddenly that Starbuck, Landin, and Shields pulled up in surprise and turned to see what was wrong. Lee did not move, any more than he acknowledged their inquiring glances.

Now, one would think that it is not possible for the human mind to flat line without actually being dead, for a person's thoughts to be filled with absolutely nothing of any cognitive substance. Certainly Lee Adama had thought so, until he found himself frozen there in such a heightened state of extreme minima his brain failed for an instant to tell his heart to beat, and his lungs to fill. There was, perhaps, a faint echo, a stirring of…something. But it was fleeting, and illusive in the way of echoes. In any case, Lee Adama could not have appeared more blank and out of himself if he had tried.

The mind of Sharon Valeri, conversely, was abuzz with one or two word stingers ricocheting off the walls of her conscious. _Alive. Found out. Killed him. Kill me. Daniel. How? God… _ There was confusion, fear, a burst of panicked apprehension, then Sharon felt nothing at all.

The others, standing impudently by, watching, were no more certain of what was happening than they were of how to respond. Kara's eyes flitted from on to the other, from cylon to man, startled by the immediate stasis in which she found herself. This had not how she had expected this meeting to go. This was not how any of them would have expected this meeting to go. With a palpable unease, she edged closer to Lee. He remained utterly unaware of her. Landin clearing his throat awkwardly was the only break in the tense silence. Starbuck's hand on Lee's elbow (placed there more firmly, and therefore more painfully, than she had intended) startled him out his reverie. As he shook out of his stupor, she thought she saw something desperate behind his glazed eyes, as if he was trying hard to explain, to reach her with something he had no words for.

Sharon, too, had returned to herself. She made her way to the handset with such eager temerity someone just walking in would not have believed she had been struck dumb and motionless only an instant before. Landin and Shields stepped back against the bulkhead, preferring to watch the exchange rather than be a part of it. For her part, Starbuck stayed close to Lee as he moved to the handset on his side of the wall. She was only peripherally aware of Sharon's amazed eyes seeking hers, since her greater concern was how totally _unaware _Lee seemed to be of _either of them. _He was moving like a man possessed.

"It's good to see you Captain," Sharon strained.

"It's good to be seen," he replied. Because that is what men say. "I didn't know you sang."

And she had been. Singing that is, when they first came in. No one else had any cause to know it, but it was Sharon's gentle song, murmured unthinkingly to the child within her, that had jerked Lee up so inexplicably. To Sharon, as to the rest of them, it had been nothing; it had been a nonsense song of nonsense words punctuated by periods of meaningless humming and _da dee das. _Because it had been nothing to her then, it was nothing to her now. She skipped over Lee's comment as if it had never been.

"They told me you were dying." _Spontaneous bruising, hemorrhaging from the eyes, heightened sensitivity to light, touch, sound… _"I didn't expect to see you…" _Ever again. _

"I was. I'm not now."

Starbuck stepped in. She did not understand what exactly was going on with Lee just then, any more than she had understood what had been going on with him from the moment she found slick and thrashing in his rack…or, rather, for the last ten weeks or so. Kara Thrace was not one who could stand easily by and _not know _what was going on, and since Lee seemed only half-interested anyway, she took the handset from him and swept him aside. He gave under her hand like a hospital curtain.

"What about that Sharon? Helo said you agreed that he was probably sick because of what happened on Caprica."

"It makes sense. Unless you can think of some other reason."

"I can't. Can you think of what might make him sick like this?"

"I don't… some kind of virus maybe."

"Lee's not a computer," Kara scoffed.

"There are other kinds of viruses," Sharon bit back. "Just because we're 'machines' doesn't mean that's all we know how to work with."

"So you're saying it was a biological weapon of some kind?"

"I'm not saying anything one way or another. I don't know what made him sick, I didn't see him while he was sick. I'm just saying that's one possibly explanation."

"And this miraculous recovery?"

"Look I don't know alright!" she barked, more harshly than she had intended. "I don't understand why you're asking me. I'm locked up, under guard, twenty-four hours, every day. I don't know what you think I could possibly know."

But Starbuck persisted, unrelenting. "Do you know. Of any cylon weapons. Chemical, biological, whatever. That could have made Lee sick?"

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, Sharon was grateful for her programming. She was grateful, in as much as she was able to be so, for the mechanisms built into her that allowed her to, for the sake of her lover, for the sake of her daughter, look into the face, the eyes, of Kara Thrace, and lie.

"No."

* * *

"She's lying." 

Kara stripped angrily out of her uniform, ignoring Geminon's antics as the pup wrestled around in her cast off clothing. She was scheduled in the slots in half an hour, and needed to change into her flight gear. Not that she was thrilled about it. She had seriously considered trading rotations with someone, so that she could stay with Lee. After this afternoon she was more worried about him than ever, though his physical condition seemed about as stable as anyone could…_never _have expected.

"Lee?"

"Hmm?"

"She's lying."

"Yeah."

Lee lay on his rack exactly as he had fallen into it, staring at the underside of the rack above him and absently stroking Caprica's head. He made no move to shift into a more comfortable position, or even take off his boots.

"And _you're _not listening." She paused for a moment in her dressing to glare accusingly, and ineffectually, at him. "Lee."

This time there was no response at all. Lee had allowed his eyes to slip closed, but she did not think he was sleeping. Half-dressed, she drifted across the room almost without realizing she had moved, and lowered herself onto the edge of his bed. Aware as she was that his nerves were still blazing, she brushed his brow as lightly as possible, checking for fever. When she said his name again she did so more softly. Perhaps it was the tone, or perhaps it was the genuine concern and anxiety in her voice, that reached him. Regardless, he opened his eyes.

"I'll stay if you want me to. Palladino's offered to take my place in the slots." It was not an offer she usually would have made, any more than it was one Palladino would have made. It was not an offer he usually would have considered either. But she made it anyway, and he considered it. At least, he did not dismiss it out of hand, which seemed to her to be the same thing. The silence stretched on. "Seriously Lee. You ok?"

"Have you ever…" He stopped, pushing himself up on his side, propped on his elbow. He seemed to consider her more deeply than anyone had in a long time, and she shifted slightly under his scrutiny. How any man could go so quickly from in all ways unseeing to _all_ seeing was beyond her. "Have you ever had a dream that felt so real… Or, you know how dreams can't be real. It never even occurs to you that its real because it…just can't be. Then one day you find yourself seeing a place or meeting a person or hearing a song and you remember it. Maybe you hardly thought of it before but you remember it like you were there."

"Lee what are you talking about?"

"Earlier. That song Sharon was singing when we went to see her. I've heard it before."

Starbuck, in hearing that tune, had interpreted it exactly as Sharon had in singing it, and she had no idea how to respond.

Fortunately, she didn't have to.

"And I think you're right Kara," he said distantly, rolling onto his back again. "I think Sharon's lying."

* * *

Daniel was annoyed. It is likely this follows without needing to be said, but it is said here nevertheless. It is said here because Daniel had nowhere to say it. He could not grumble, or rant, or even look upset in the company of his enemies, and his enemies were all around him. 

Two days had now passed since he had seen the dead man walking - that was the only way he knew how to think of it. Apollo, who by rights should have been well on his way to being reduced to a screaming puddle of mush, had been up and walking and talking in a decidedly scream-free timbre. So Daniel was forced to carry on his little charade, to go to his lessons with the other nuggets, to eat and sleep among them, to play their games, to laugh at their jokes. He did so seamlessly, flawlessly, and carelessly, all the while trying to determine what had gone wrong, and how to set it right.

He had no notion of the time; they had been rousted from their bunks somewhere near the start of the Midwatch, but time had blurred since then. With Starbuck, Hotdog, and Chief breathing down their necks, the nuggets and green deck hands were being put through their paces. The idea was to wake unexpectedly, as if the call to action stations had been made while they were all peacefully sleeping, suit up and be in the tubes in the shortest possible time. At the other end of the hanger, the alert pilots and more seasoned deck hands were chuckling and chatting amongst themselves, enjoying the unexpected entertainment on their graveyard shift. The instructors seemed to be enjoying themselves too. Daniel, on the other hand, who had launched half a dozen times already and performed as many combat landings, was more than tempted to wipe the smug smiles off their faces.

"Mick! Sit the hell down. Quinn! Everett! Pick it up, we don't have all day!"

"Day?" Quinn grumbled. "What the frak's she talking about? Day."

"Cut the chatter!"

Daniel was getting a break this time; only a few nuggets were being launched every turn. He sat with some of the others off to one side, watching the circus and enjoying the break. Or, rather, enjoying it as much as anyone in his position could be expected to.

"Ames!" the Chief snapped. "Watch that line! I want those helmets checked and the canopies secure in one minute! Let's go!"

Daniel resisted the urge to claw at his arm. The blasphemous patch stitched onto his suit all but burned a hole through to his skin. He had some very specific ideas about what he would do to whoever it was had come with this idea, to call their little band of apprentice fliers the Pythian Squadron. Some had said it was to honor the failing president. Others claimed it was their CAG, Apollo, that the nuggets venerated. In either case it was idolatry, in which Daniel had to feign overwhelming pride. If he had had an actual python devouring its tail, instead of an embroidered one, he would have yanked the tail out of its mouth and set it on the whole bunch of them.

"Ok people! Let's get this deck ready for returning fighters! Move move move!"

Apollo appeared then, on the catwalk above them. He had the dog with him – Caprica, they called that one. Daniel had seen a lot of the dogs, though only ever from afar; he had kept his distance after that first day, when Sharon had seemed to put off by them. It made no sense to him, having animals on a warship. If nothing else they were consuming what limited rations the humans had. _That's why we'll win. Sentimental fools. _

Starbuck glanced up to take note of Apollo's presence there, but didn't say anything. He did not interfere with them either, but only stood and watched with a kind of detachment Daniel would not have expected of him. He could not explain _why _he wouldn't have expected it, but it seemed strange to him that Lee Adama was the sort of man who could stand apart and watch something like this. Clearly he had much to learn about the man. That annoyed him all the more; he had not expected to have any need to learn anything about Apollo at all.

The combat landings were beginning, and Daniel was trying to be interested in how they proceeded, when something caught his eye. The motion, caught fleetingly and peripherally, was in the direction of the catwalk. It was the dog. It had wandered from Apollo side and slunk cautiously down the walk, until it stood directly in line with Daniel. In fact it was Daniel that seemed to be the object of its interest; with its head lowered and bobbing a bit from side to side, it stared fixedly at him. Its tail was tucked down, its hackles raised. Daniel tried to look away and ignore it, but he was as much fascinated by the animal as it seemed to be by him. It shifted its weight, pacing a few feet in one direction, then back the other way, but always watching him intently.

Having no experience with animals in general, let alone dogs in particular, Daniel was not sure how to respond. More than that, he did not understand why he should be so certain that, if he were to move, it would chase him. Perhaps it was the understanding one predator has of another. He remembered the dog, the young male, that had accosted them in Sharon's holding area…

Sharon had behaved strangely, he recalled suddenly. She had pressed herself against the glass, as if she was trying to get _closer _to Daniel. Why would she have done that? What possible reason could there have been, other than to leave the humans with the impression that the dog was growling at _her, _rather than him. And why would she care who they thought the dog was growling at? Was it possible that Sharon believed…

Daniel looked more closely at the dog on the catwalk, and was struck with the idea that, if he were within earshot of the creature, he would hear it growling. Though he was sitting with several other men and women, it never once crossed his mind that the dog was fixated on anyone else. Was it possible? Could the presence of these animals on Galactica be more than foolish sentiment?

The Vipers were being drawn back onto the deck, and soon Daniel's turn would come again. He would have to leap up and sprint for his Viper, and he was sure that if he did that dog would be on him. It was a certainty that reached his very bones. The dog itself did not frighten him; it was a juvenile, still small, and could not seriously hurt him. But if he was right, if the humans were somehow training these dogs to identify cylons, he would then have a whole hanger full of _them _to fear.

Demonstrating that fate is not without a sense of irony, it was Starbuck who saved him.

"Alright nuggets, that's enough. Go get some sleep. You have tactical maneuvers this afternoon."

As a group they made their way for the hatch. Daniel imagined that the dog had lost him in the crowd, but he did not look back to be sure.


End file.
